


follow the lines and wonder why there's no connection

by electricshoop



Series: The Art of Losing Oneself While Trying to Be Found (And Other Grand Escape Plans) [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, but it's fine bc he doesn't even realize it for 4.2k or so words, heavily featuring a corn maze, mentions of a gun and knives but no violence, oh. blood gets mentioned too. but still no violence, pre Spiral!Gerry, this is basically just 4.5k words of Gerry being sad and lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 06:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricshoop/pseuds/electricshoop
Summary: Gerry didn't really expect to see his nameless Spiral not-friend again, but he's not about to complain about having his life saved by it. He'll even indulge it and wander through a stupid corn maze, if that's the price he has to pay.... He just wishes it would learn a thing or two about clear communication.





	follow the lines and wonder why there's no connection

**Author's Note:**

> proper proof-reading is for people who didn't write 4k of this over the course of a single afternoon/evening.
> 
> can theoretically be read without knowing [the first oneshot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20668922), because it's pre-Spiral!gerry, but why would you skip the intro of this extremely wonderful series with an extremely <strike>niche</strike> [wonderful concept](https://electricshoop.tumblr.com/post/187579306186/kicks-the-door-open-gerard-keayspiralmichael)?
> 
> [title taken from "Phantom Limb" by The Shins]

"... What do you know about doors?"

She doesn't look up from her pile of files - and God only knows what it all is; snippets of a few relevant statements, perhaps, witness accounts of this incident or that, hell, for all he knows, it could be a simple travel account taken from an online blog about the Top 10 Best Tourist Attractions In Bratislava. Though he is hardly ever so lucky.

So. She doesn't look up, but she does answer, casually. "They say if one closes, a window opens."

"Gertrude."

"Gerard?"

Gerry sighs and leans back, shifts a little, tries to find a more comfortable position. It proves hard - EasyJet flights are like that, always. The backrest feels just slightly off against his back, the seats are just the tiniest bit too close together; there's almost enough space, but not quite. He gives up - the thought that there's only about an hour left is comforting.

"Not what I meant," he says.

"But that's what they say."

"Really?" he asks blankly. "They say that. About eldritch-y doors."

"Well now." She finally puts her documents down - and he immediately wishes she didn't when she turns to look at him, eyes so sharp, so perceptive. "You didn't mention the 'eldritch' part, before."

_What else could I possibly mean_, he doesn't say. Instead he shrugs, tries for a casual conversation. "So? I did now."

A few seconds pass, enough of them to make Gerry think she just won't answer. It wouldn't be the first time; she's ... like that, likes to withhold information, at least until she's sure about the credibility of her sources. His thoughts start drifting off; wander to his bag and the book in it, and how much he hates the fact that of course they're stuck in the seats right next to the emergency exit, of course they're not allowed to keep their carry-on with them, that's just their luck. (He doubts the book can do anything, up there, but one never knows.)

He's made peace with the fact that he won't receive an answer by the time Gertrude speaks again, and it takes him a moment to make the mental connection to the conversation they were having before.

"Why do you ask?" The question is measured, it sounds casual, but there's a certain undertone to it. Curiosity and something else, something darker. (He could refuse to answer, though. She doesn't do ... that, hardly at all, never to him.)

Gerry shrugs again. She's good at seeing through his lies; has told him outright that he's a terrible liar multiple times, which, he thinks, makes somewhat sense, all things considered. But he can't- No. He doesn't want to tell her the entire truth, either. Something makes him think it wouldn't be a good idea. So he goes for a half-truth, and says, "I just ... thought I'd seen some weird doors, a few times during the past two or so weeks. Doors that just ... showed up, where there weren't any before. I could have just imagined it, I suppose, but..."

He thinks he expected her to at least tell him that this could be the Distortion. That much isn't sensitive information; it's in fact something he could most likely figure out himself with minimal research. But she doesn't - instead she replies, without taking her eyes off him once, "Hm. Whatever the case may be, my advice would be to ignore doors such as these. You never know what lurks behind them."

Which ... sounds like solid advice, actually. He nods-

*

-and then he yanks the door open and steps through it without questioning it for even a second.

To be fair, though: That's hours later, after they checked into the hotel, after they spoke to the lovely Slovakian lady about the disappearance and strange reappearance of her brother, and after he'd spent the rest of the evening in a bar with an extremely odd sort of comfortable atmosphere; the room had been a little too dark for his liking, the music too ... well, too "radio", but everyone had been in a good mood to the point where it would have been impossible to sulk about the overall state of the political affairs in Fear Power Country.

But the bar, of course ... turned out to be part of the problem as well: He's slightly drunk on Borovičk, and he just really didn't pay attention. He didn't think, for some reason, that he'd have to. Looking back, it's silly. People like him don't just get to take a break. That's not how it works; that's not how the game goes. But the evening had been genuinely _nice; _he'd talked to a guy around his age - he'd only spoken a little bit of English, and Gerry doesn't know a single word of Slovak, but they'd eventually figured out that they both speak German, which had made things easy. Every now and then, it's comforting to remember that not everyone's life is cursed books this or eldritch horror that, so he'd enjoyed the rambling about the funding for the rebuilding of some street, and about how it certainly wouldn't be used for that, what with all the corrupt politicians, and-

Well, and that had been foolish, clearly, because it had lead to this: A bunch of strangers having him cornered in a dark side street, demanding that he hands over "the book". There's no way they are speaking about anything else than the stupid tome with the stupid, ever-shifting, foreign script, which is concerning on multiple levels, because 1. it's never good when intimidating people want to get their hands on a Leitner, just in general, and 2. they are so sure that Gerry is in possession of it that he suspects they must have followed him all the way here. Their accent-free English speaks to that, as well.

Also, 3.: "I don't have it with me. Do you think I'm stupid enough to just carry Leitners around with me all day long?" and, oh, 4.: "... Not that I'd give it to you if I had it with me, of course."

He'd somewhat counted on the knives. He thinks he could have _handled _the knives, actually. What he didn't count on was the gun; that's the issue, and he curses himself for being so careless today. His face seems to tell them as much, because said gun's owner grins at him, disgustingly triumphant, and tells him that, well, in that case, they'd be more than happy to accompany him to whatever place he's keeping the book.

He can't do that. Obviously, he can't do that. He contemplates his options, quickly - there's not many. Either he has to confront these guys right now, slightly drunk and not armed in any way that could stand against a bloody gun - or he has to start leading them back to the hotel, frantically trying to come up with a plan while walking the twenty-ish minutes. Neither of those options are very appealing.

Gerry decides he doesn't want to die - that much, at least, is clear to him - so he's about to agree ... and that's when the door appears.

It does so silently. Like all the times during the past two or so weeks when it happened. Out of nowhere, without a sound; he sees it only out of the corner of his eye. And perhaps it's just the fact that he's drunk, perhaps it's the fact that he obviously hasn't made any smart decisions at all today - but either way, he doesn't hesitate. He remembers the nameless Spiral person, he remembers their, for eldritch occurrences, extremely peaceful conversation, and then he quickly turns and grabs the doorknob. It's slightly cold to the touch but feels normal, like any other doorknob would, and before his potential murderers can do anything about it, he turns it, pulls the door open and steps over the threshold. The door falls closed quietly behind him.

*

He blinks a few times. He's somewhere completely different - which, to a degree, was to be suspected, he supposes; was what he wanted and needed, even, but he's put off by it, anyway. This isn't any place in Bratislava. The cloudy almost-night sky has been replaced by bright blue and a searing, hot sun. Gerry squints at it for a moment and then casts his glance around to take in his new surroundings. Gone are the streets, narrow and mostly built of old, grey stone. Instead, he's standing at what looks like the start of-

Oh, for-

"Nope," he says. "Not doing this. Forget it." He shakes his head and turns around - only to find that the door he entered through is gone. Of course. That's just his luck. (Although he doesn't know for sure that he would have gone back out, had he had the chance. No use escaping a dangerous situation if you turn around and walk back into it a few seconds later, is there.) He sighs and turns again. As much as he appreciates the rescue, he really could have done without ... this.

"A corn maze," he says, "really? Not very imaginative." 

He gets nothing in reply. Nothing but the faint whispering of the corn being rocked from side to side by a gentle breeze, because yes, he is very much standing in front of a corn maze. The field stretches out impossibly far to either side of him; he can't see the end of it, no matter how much he strains his eyes.

Gerry allows himself a few moments to just stand here, be annoyed, and breathe. In the end, he doubts he has much of a choice, here. His nameless Spiral not-friend isn't anywhere to be seen, and with no other way out, standing underneath a sun that keeps burning down mercilessly, walking into the maze just to pass time, benefit the tiniest bit from the tall shadows the corn casts, and indulge the Distortion for a little while does seem like the most sensible course of action.

"Alright. Fine," he says. "If I find my way out, you'll let me go though. Deal?"

No answer.

He rolls his eyes and takes off his leather coat before he enters the maze. A heat stroke is the last thing he wants to deal with today.

It's only a few steps and a first turn (left, he picks) before he's surrounded by corn on all sides, walking along a small, dirty path. He doesn't hurry - doesn't see a reason to, honestly; not yet. That his rescuer is the same manifestation of the Spiral he talked to about a week ago seems to be obvious - the suddenly appearing door seems conclusive enough. And while he knows better than to trust this thing, it did save him from the bloody knife-slash-gun-wielding Leitner hunters. No use saving him if it wants him dead, right? If it wants to play with him, then walking a corn maze until it gets tired of watching him is on the more harmless side of things he has experienced.

The maze goes on, and on, and on. He remembers how far the corn seemed to stretch to either side, and gets a little more annoyed. The shade cast by the corn is barely enough to keep the worst of the heat away, and he's getting tired, because no matter what this world right here seems to imply; in his reality, he'd actually planned to go back to the hotel and straight to sleep, because the evening had progressed quickly. He has no idea what time it is, now - he just knows that he's not drunk anymore, but that could just be the shock of being confronted with the lovely strangers, earlier, and doesn't necessarily speak to the amount of time that has passed. It suddenly occurs to him then that he does of course have his phone with him, but when he pulls it out of his pocket, it's not only without reception (so no, he won't be able to call whoever you call in a situation like this), but the screen is also full of glitches and symbols that don't resemble anything he's ever seen before. The time isn't decipherable. He scoffs and shoves it back into his pocket. What else did he expect. Those things always interfere with technology in the most annoying way.

It takes a while, but eventually, he ends up at a dead end. He stares at it and takes the moment to listen closely. There's still no sound, though, nothing but the corn, and the wind, and their interaction creating these whispers that may or may not sound a little too much like actual whispering. He's not sure what non-supernatural corn mazes are supposed to sound like. His entire knowledge of corn comes from Children of the Corn, and he doubts a Stephen King short story is the go-to resource when he wants "non-supernatural". Anyway. No sound. So no clue as to where to go. (And what did he expect to hear, anyway? Traffic? Other people, lost in here forever? He drops this train of thought.)

Frowning, he turns back and retraces his steps, takes another turn, only to end up in front of a solid wall of corn yet again just a few minutes later. 

"Oh, come on," he mutters, but simply marches back again, retreats further; takes a different path.

It happens two more times before he starts wondering if he's somehow ended up walking into the same direction as before. He doesn't think so, but then again, he is dealing with the Spiral, so anything goes. Perhaps, he thinks, leaving some sort of mark that will let him recognize that he's been here already might be a good idea. There's nothing around but corn, but it should do. A cob or two along the way, at the beginning of a path leading away from a junction. He stretches out a hand to break off or rip out one of the stalks, but he only brushes the tips of his fingers against it and immediately flinches back. The pain is sharp; the same kind of pain like when he's accidentally cut himself on a bookbinding knife. He glares at the corn. It doesn't look like it should be razor sharp, but the burning sensation on his fingers clearly tells a different story. He doesn't have to look at them to feel the blood running down along his skin.

"Oh, so leaving a trail would be cheating, but you're allowed to alter the laws of physic? Not very fair, wouldn't you say?" 

Of course he gets nothing in return; nothing but his annoyance being replaced by something sharper; something closer to anger.

"You know what? That's it. I'm sick of this. I'll just stay here, do what you will with that."

Gerry drops his coat and sits down on it. He keeps glaring at the corn.

*

The sun moves over the sky, slowly. Or ... or, not. Maybe it's quickly. Gerry doesn't know. He's got no possibility to track the passage of time, so he can't be sure if the sun moves the same way it would outside. _If _he can trust the sun, hours pass like that. After a while, the anger subsides and leaves behind dull boredom; he starts talking about "Children of the Corn" to no one in particular. Perhaps the Spiral creature is listening. If it's not, he might be rambling about Stephen King, one specific short story and the overall theme of the collection it was featured in, to the Beholding. He doesn't think he's feeling watched - not, in any case, any more or less than usual, plus, he's in the Spiral's domain right now, so who knows. He doubts his literary analysis would be of any particular interest to eldritch Terrors, no matter if it's _horror _short stories or not. But he can't think of anything else to do.

He puts his leather coat back on once the sun's sunk below the topmost tips of the corn towering over him. It isn't dawn, not exactly, but the quality of the light has shifted ever so slightly. It seems dirtier, somehow. There's something rusty to it - to the color of the rays of sunlight squeezing themselves through the chaotic thickness of the stalks of the corn; to the flickering shadows and the dust particles dancing in the air. Something about it makes his head hurt.

His fingers are feeling slightly numb. If he somehow managed to poison himself by mindlessly cutting himself on fucking _corn_, he'll be really pissed. What a way to go, after dealing with literal horror scenarios for all his life. Killed by plants.

Once he's done contemplating all this, his thoughts have nowhere else to go.

"Hey," he says, "how long are you planning to keep me here?" Silence. "... You win, okay? I don't mind losing a game of Escape The Room, if I'm playing against the Spiral." Silence. Splendid.

"Well. At some point, Gertrude will get worried." These words are more addressed to himself, really, but they're the ones that get a reaction.

Faint laughter. Gerry sits up straighter. For all but a heartbeat, he thinks he might be imagining it - isolation can do that, quicker than one might suspect - but the sound doesn't fade away, instead it gets louder. It's odd, echoing and distorted and spiraling in and around itself.

The laughter still hasn't quite faded when it's interrupted by the same voice speaking, mocking yet almost gentle - "I have no reason to believe that this would be the case."

This statement seems random for a moment, until Gerry links it to his own - that Gertrude will get worried eventually. Part of him wants to be offended, but in the end, he just exhales slowly, and he's really never been one for self-deception. "That might be true," he shrugs. "Still. I'd like to leave, please. I don't know what you want from me."

Approaching footsteps, the rustling of the corn. It sounds gentler than it should, knowing that the leaves are sharp as a blade.

It's the same person he met on the roof of the hotel that steps out of the corn directly in front of him, of course. Gerry gets to his feet slowly - he still doesn't think it will try to kill him, but he's let his guard down once already today, and has paid the price for it. He's not about to let it happen again.

"What do you want?"

"Mmm. She wouldn't care. She wouldn't come look for you, assistant."

"Like I said: Fair. That doesn't answer my question." He decidedly doesn't want to consider all the implications of the Spiral's words - and that he doesn't feel like he has any right to object to them - any further. 

"I saved you. I think they would have killed you. I didn't want that." It slowly walks closer, until it's very much in what Gerry considers his personal space. He forces himself to stay put. No need to back away and make it think he's uncomfortable with the proximity. (Besides, he doesn't know if he is. He's still not scared of it, even though he thinks a smarter person would be.)

"I know," he says. "They most definitely would have killed me, if I hadn't given the book they wanted over to them. And I wasn't about to do that. So ... thank you, for that."

The other seems pleased at that. It ... smiles, mouth splitting into a grin that's too wide to look at and makes his head hurt further. "You are welcome," it says, sincerely.

"Why do you care? If I live or die?"

"I am not sure," it says. "I don't think I do. Your life isn't important to anyone."

He wants to point out that this directly contradicts its earlier words, but what comes out instead is just a dry, "Wow."

"Do not think it matters to her."

Gerry pushes out a breath. "Again with that. ... You're talking about Gertrude."

"You need to stop being naive."

"That- Wait, that's what you said when we first met." Gerry frowns. "Were you referring to Gertrude back then, too?"

It hums and, without answering, reaches out in a movement that seems sudden and abrupt, to take Gerry's right hand into its own. It feels ... strange. Not quite human. Not quite like something else. It feels heavy, most of all. Like a leather bag filled with stones. Gerry doesn't flinch and instead watches how it inspects his fingers. "You cut yourself."

"Yes. On your corn. Thanks for that, as well."

"You have tattoos."

"Yes."

"I don't like them."

"That's entirely unsurprising."

It lifts its head to look at him again and drops his hand with a frown. "You can't allow yourself that kind of naiveté."

Gerry lets a few seconds pass, but he doesn't get anything else. "Has somebody ever told you you're an incredibly frustrating conversation partner?"

"They don't usually get the chance," it says casually. "And I don't talk to people much."

Well, that seems like a lie. Which it could very well be, knowing what Fear it serves. Gerry tries to get back on track of this disjointed conversation and thinks for a moment before he meets the other's eyes. "You think I'm being naive in regards to Gertrude. How so? How do you know her?"

"You ask too many questions." It doesn't sound annoyed. It doesn't sound much of anything.

"And you're not answering any of them."

"No, I'm not. And I won't." That, too, sounds pleased, as if Gerry's just solved a particularly tricky puzzle. Before he gets to answer, it cocks its head and, with an almost gentle smile, asks, "You said you want to leave. Are you sure? You could stay here."

"I-" Gerry needs a second; he just stares at it for a moment. He's not sure what to make of this offer; doesn't know how he's supposed to read it. There's quite a lot of room for interpretation between "malicious intent" and "benevolent invitation", and as far as he knows, it could be either. "Thank you," he says eventually, carefully. "That's very nice of you, but, yes, I'd really like to leave."

"Are you sure? I won't ask a third time."

"I'm really, really sure, yes. I'd like to go, please. I have a Leitner to figure out how to get rid of."

If he didn't know any better - and, he does, because it wouldn't make sense - he'd say it looks disappointed at that. But then it steps aside, and reveals the door standing in the middle of the path.

"Go ahead, then."

And Gerry is tired, and Gerry has no real reason to not trust it, so he goes ahead.

*

He finds himself standing in his hotel room, doorhandle still in hand. "Oh," he says, because that's not what he expected. He expected to be let back out in the middle of Bratislava's streets. "... Thank you." He properly steps into the room and takes a look around, just to make sure, but this is, undoubtedly, his room.

His nameless Spiral ... not(?)-friend is still there, leaned against the doorframe. "I told you I would not ask a third time."

"Yeah ..." Gerry looks at it for a moment, and then gestures around his room. "You could come in. Stay for a bit. If you wanted."

It gives him a blank stare in return. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, why not? You offered me to stay in Corn Maze Land, it feels only appropriate to offer you the same. We could move the furniture around a little, if you're dead-set on the maze aesthetic, but I'll have to insist on your help in getting everything back to its original state again. I don't want the hotel staff to put me on a blacklist."

"Why would I stay here?" The other's expression still hasn't changed, and as much as Gerry tries, he's unable to glean anything from its voice. 

"It was half a joke," he explains. "But I wouldn't mind if you actually wanted to stay here for a bit. You could call me naive. Or explain what you actually mean, exactly. I'm not sure why you're as invested in Gertrude as you seem to be, but you keep talking about it, so it seems to be important to you." He takes a look around the room again; gets stuck on the book sitting on the bed, looking as innocent as a book can look, then looks at his suitcase, still unopened, and for a moment, the fact that he's going to stay here for only two days before he'll be moving somewhere else again strikes him hard and does something to his stomach he can't really classify as one emotion or another. He's pretty sure it doesn't feel great, though. He's aware his next words sound tired, the mild sarcasm gone completely, but he doesn't really mind. "... Or we just sit here and watch TV. They've even got a few German channels, because for some reason, everybody here seems to speak German - it's probably the proximity to Vienna, but- uh. I don't actually know if you know German. Do you?"

Finally, its expression changes, and Gerry only realizes that it looks bewildered when it answers.

"You are confusing," it says. It sounds incredibly accusing. 

Gerry walks over to the bed and sits down. "So? That's good, right? That's your thing."

"No," it says. "Or- Yes. But you're supposed to be confused. Not me."

He shrugs. "I think I'm also supposed to be scared. Never liked these rules, so I decided I'd just not follow them."

"That's not how it works." Beat. "I like it. That you're not scared." Another beat. "She doesn't care about you. And I suppose I'll just have to keep saving your life until you realize that."

And with that, it steps back through its door, and then it's gone, and then the door is gone.

"That made absolutely no sense," Gerry says into the now empty hotel room. "Next time we'll meet, I'll teach you how to keep your statements actually connected to each other."

It's impossibly quiet, then, after the sound of the wind and the whispering of the corn. He tosses the book aside, and manages to feel only a little bit bad for it. He spends a few minutes looking at the cut on his fingers (still slightly numb, but he doubts he'll die, so that's good), and then he grabs the remote control for the TV and just leaves it to the channel it turns on to. He half-listens to the sounds of a news show, all Slovak words he doesn't understand. The room feels oddly empty, and maybe, he thinks, he wasn't half-joking - maybe, he thinks, it would have been just nice to have someone in here for an hour or two. Maybe, he thinks, he'll actually see the nameless Spiral creature again. (Some part of him immediately shuts this thought down, because that's not how his life usually works.)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://electricshoop.tumblr.com)!
> 
> also, the next oneshot will have the focus on Spiral!gerry again; 500 words or so already exist; aren't we all excited???


End file.
